Prescription for Danger
by mng042197
Summary: Dr. Bella Swan has been a psychiatrist in the mental ward at St. Mary's Hospital for the past year. She's seen all sorts of people coming and going. But Edward Cullen is a whole different story, himself painting a much more frightening picture of his supposed mental instability. Language and LEMONS in later chapters!
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight.**

**Prescription for Danger by mng042197**

**Description: Dr. Bella Swan has been a psychiatrist in the mental ward at St. Mary's Hospital for the past year. She's seen all sorts of people coming and going. But Edward Cullen is a whole different story, himself painting a much more frightening picture of his supposed mental instability.**

_Prologue_

_He grasped at my hips roughly, pulling me flush against his hard, muscled body and backing us up haphazardly towards the bed. I could feel his arousal pressing into my stomach and it stirred feelings within my body that I thought had been long dead. And, as far as I was concerned, they had been until I'd met Edward. As his lips connected with mine, I felt a jolt of electricity run through my body, centering itself in my core. I was already wet and he hadn't even touched me yet. _

_ Edward ran his hands up my body, one coming up to kneed my breast, the other tangling in my long dark hair, tugging at the roots and eliciting a moan from my slightly parted lips. As our tongues fought for dominance, I moved my hands to his belt, undoing it and then the button of his jeans. I had little patience and refused to wait any longer than I had to. He was mine and I was his. So why should we torture ourselves with all of this suspense. The sexual tension was too much and I needed to end it and quickly._

_ "Fuck me!" I groaned into his ear after breaking away from his mouth, breathless. There was no alcohol in my system, no inhibitors to spur on my bad behavior. This was entirely me and my desires and this rush was a better high than any I had ever experienced. I was drunk with need, but it was so much more gratifying. His lips found a place on my neck, biting and sucking at the delicate skin there, and his hands found their way to the top of my jeans. I knew then that there had never been any hope for me. I had always belonged to him, always been destined for this life of crime and deception and lust. Some would have said it was a waste of my life but, in my opinion, it had taken me far too long to finally find my place. _


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight.**

**Prescription for Danger by mng042197**

**Description: Dr. Bella Swan has been a psychiatrist in the mental ward at St. Mary's Hospital for the past year. She's seen all sorts of people coming and going. But Edward Cullen is a whole different story, himself painting a much more frightening picture of his supposed mental instability.**

I woke up that morning to the sound of my alarm clock buzzing, a noise which resounded off of the plain, brown walls of my apartment like an ambulance siren. I didn't like the mornings, never had. It reminded me of school and Sundays and it always made me cringe, especially when the heavy scent of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the air around me. This was something that I remembered from my childhood, the morning after one of my mother's binges would end. She would set the coffee machine at six and sit at the table, just waiting, headache and all, for me to come downstairs so she could comfort me with new and empty promises. They were always the same, and always just as hopeless.

"Bella," she would say, her hazel eyes full of regret and shame. "Mommy's sorry that you had to see that. But I promise it won't even happen again? Okay, precious?" I would nod of course, and smile at her tear stained face, her rumple honey hair. She was sorry. Naturally, she was always sorry. But there would come a call from my father, or the landlord, or my grandmother, sometimes Renee's boss, and she would come home from the gas station with a case of light beer, a bottle of Absolut vodka and orange juice. By the time I was ten, I had given up on believing anything she ever said to me.

I never had many friends, not only because I never had enough time living in the same place to get close to anyone but because I was invisible. I didn't speak much in school, didn't socialize. My teachers insisted I was a perfect example of a child from an abused home, yet I always denied it. I loved Renee, boozing and all, and I wouldn't have left her for the world. Instead, I tried to ignore the truth, the indiscriminate sex and the raving, drunken brawls with the neighbors. I studied and, as a result, had graduated high school by the age of fifteen.

My mother didn't take much notice when I applied to college at UCLA. She was on a year-long binge of men and alcohol then, worse than ever before, and by the time I had worked up the courage to tell her she was too far gone to care. She had shouted over me with slurred words and sloppy lips, "You think you can just run off, Isa-bel-la? You're fifteen fucking years old, for Christ's s-sake. Yo-you know? I'm your mother, damn it!" She'd poured herself another drink then, lighting a cigarette after putting the glass briefly to her lips. And I decided. I decided that I wouldn't let her do this to me any longer, that I would make it out, regardless of how much it hurt her. She wasn't my mother anymore. She was just Renee Swan—beautiful, crazy, worthless, hopeless Renee.

I was transferred into my father's custody and, from there, was sent to live in California with my older brother Emmett while attending UCLA for premed. The rest was all history.

And somehow, I had ended up here: twenty-six and back in Seattle just an hour and a half from the father that I had never known, all alone and completely miserable. I was more like my mother than I ever could have imagined, I thought, reminded by the empty bottle of red wine on my bedside table, and it made me sick. It turned my stomach, broke my heart, but I didn't seem to care enough to stop. I wasn't her yet, not quite yet.

Slowly, I eased my legs over the side of the bed and onto the cold hard-wood flooring. I shivered, wrapped my sweater tightly around my slender body and got to my feet. I could feel the effects of my hangover weighing heavily on me. It was a Monday, and I was dreading the day which would inevitably unfold ahead of me.

As I walked into the kitchen, I realized what a mess I'd made the night before. Jake had been over and we'd had a fight. I faintly remembered it, remembered how I'd hurled the shot glass we'd been using at him first, followed by some dishes from the sink and, finally, the toaster. Thankfully, my coffee maker had survived the incident and I ignored the mess around me, quickly starting a pot brewing. I set to picking up my demolished toaster then, which had unfortunately come into contact with my favorite photograph hanging on the wall. I retrieved a broom from the pantry and mopped up the glass, along with the broken shards of shot glass threatening to stab into my bare feet.

When I turned around, I noticed a note stuck to the fridge in Jacob's chaotic scrawl. "Sorry for everything. I put you to bed in your room and left a twenty for whatever damage I caused. Please call me after work. Love, Jake." I strained hard to remember why I'd gotten mad at him in the first place, whether it had been another girl or a stupid comment or something about my mother leaving me a message on the voicemail that I never checked. Those were usual reasons for are arguments on a Sunday night. But I couldn't quite recall. I knew that Rose had been over last night too, but she'd left early on, saying she wanted to get home while she could still stand up straight enough to get herself into a taxi.

I quickly gave up on my efforts and poured some coffee into a thermos. It was almost nine and I had to be to work in a half an hour. I was still wearing my clothes from the day before but they would have to do. They were generic enough, just a pair of jeans, a black top and my favorite baggy gray sweater. Slipping my feet into a pair of lace-up combat boots, I walked out the door.

I'd worked at St. Mary's Hospital through my internship and then had decided to stay on. It had been a year now, treating patients in the mental ward of the institution. Primarily, I treated people who were a suicide risk, people who were recovering from attempts on their lives, and girls with eating disorders. But there was the occasional, flat out kook that had simply lost their shit.

Today, I walked in the front entrance of the hospital, dreading the fluorescent lights and the migraine that I knew would only grow more intense. More than anything, I was suffering from the customary guilt which followed my drinking episodes. But I wasn't like my mother, not yet. I had a steady job, an apartment, friends and respectability. The most important thing to remember was that my problems wouldn't ruin anyone's life but my own, because, unlike Renee, I wasn't inflicting my lifestyle on my child.

"Bella!" I heard from behind me, a high pitched, musical voice coming from a pair of small pink lips. It was Alice, I knew, waiting for me in our usual spot. "Hey Bells." She said, coming up beside me and smiling as we continued to walk through the atrium. "How're you this morning?"

I grumbled, grimacing at her upbeat attitude and pressing the 'up' button the elevator violently. "I'm horrible. Remind me never to drink on a Sunday."

But she only laughed, stepping into the lift behind me and pressing the button to take us to the third floor. "You say that every week, honey. You haven't listened yet. It doesn't matter how many times I remind you."

"Yeah, well don't stop. I have a thick skull but I'm sure it'll get through to me one of these days."

Alice grinned sheepishly, shaking her head and clasping her hands as we walked through the mental ward towards my office. Alice was just a nurse, but I was this floor's Psychiatrist. "You have a new patient, Doctor Swan, in room 413. Attempted suicide…"

I scoffed at the title 'Doctor Swan', but continued through the door towards my desk where I picked up the newest file. I had a lot of appointments today, but my first priority was to meet with our newest admittance. The file name read:

Mr. Edward A. Cullen

Aged 27.

Attempted suicide, severed wrists.

History of mental illness including manic depression and possible bipolar disorder.

Criminal record and a history of violence.

I read the brief notes that the secretory had made for me to give me quick overview of what I was dealing with. He obviously had some serious mental issues. Just what these stemmed from I didn't know, but it was my job to find out and I planned to do just that. I'd done it countless of times before, gradually coming to terms with the idea of gaining my patients' trust and opening their minds to me. I could help them, I was sure. It was myself that I couldn't help.

The hall to his room was long and brightly lit and I found myself popping a few pain pills in my mouth halfway there, swallowing it down with a sip of lukewarm coffee. As I approached, I could hear a ruckus coming from one of the rooms—413, of course. The new ones were always the most difficult.

I rounded the corner and walked through the door to be met by a young man with auburn hair and wild green eyes. His arms were restrained at his sides, as well as his legs which struggled against the fabric belts as he grunted out profanities. He was rough, the kind of person that I expected to see on the opposite end of a seedy bar. Looking closer, I noticed an intricate tattoo climbing up the side of his neck, behind his ear—a muddle of black and red and green woven into an impossibly complex pattern which, oddly, complemented him quite well.

"Hello?" I said, shuffling closer to the bed where the man struggle. His eyes found mine quickly, angry and full of frustration. His patience with us head worn thin and I didn't think I'd be getting anywhere with him today. "Hi, I'm Dr. Swan. You must be Edward? Am I right?" But he didn't answer, just stared back at me, his expression unfathomable and somewhat…hurt? "I'll be seeing you in my office every day starting tomorrow until you leave."

"And when do I leave?" he sneered, his mouth contorting into a shape which expressed his utter disgust with the situation.

"I don't know." I told him hesitantly, coming just a little bit closer to the bed. I wanted him to feel comfortable with me and, being a woman, I had found that close proximity was helpful, motherly even. Graciously, I placed a hand on his calf and patted it reassuringly. "Once we start our sessions, we'll be able to figure all that out."

He looked down now, seemingly detached, and I wondered what he was thinking. The human mind was a fascination of mine; that was why I went to medical school. And I loved to guess at the ways in which someone's psyche would unravel before me. I didn't quite understand what was going on with my new patient, but I could always surmise.

"I'm going to stay, but only because I need them to think that this worked. But you mark my words, _Dr. Swan_," he sneered my name like it was an abomination and I shied away from him. "I'm not some fucking crazy person and I refuse to be treated like one. So would you please be so kind as to tell your nurses not to bind me like a pig on a fucking spit?"

Taken aback, I scooted back towards the door, my head slowly nodding at him that I would. He was a live wire, probably the most frightening patient I'd ever treated, and even the professional side of me was beginning to give way to his intimidation. I knew now how to approach my time with Edward Cullen—I couldn't push him, couldn't advise or inform him. No. If I wanted this to work, I would have to do something much more difficult. I would have to make him like me.


	3. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight.**

**Prescription for Danger by mng042197**

**Description: Dr. Bella Swan has been a psychiatrist in the mental ward at St. Mary's Hospital for the past year. She's seen all sorts of people coming and going. But Edward Cullen is a whole different story, himself painting a much more frightening picture of his supposed mental instability.**

I remembered, in particular, a day when I was just fourteen, a day that changed my life forever. Renee and I were in Phoenix then, my favorite of all the places that I had lived so far, and I was starting my senior year of high school. My fifteenth birthday would have arrived before the year was out and then, I would be scotch free. I would have accomplished a good half of what I had set out to do. It was my first step towards a life independent from my boozing mother and her crazy escapades and I couldn't wait to be free.

Emmett called me while I was walking to school that day, giving me the very idea that would secure my future. "I think you should come live up here with me, lil sis, and you can maybe get into UCLA. I can convince dad, if that would be something you'd like to do. Just a thought, Bells, but you should think about it."

And think about it I did. I thought about it, entirely unsure, until the day that Renee hit me across the face for the first time—rendering a lovely blue and purple bruise smearing across my right cheekbone. That was the day that I mailed the application I'd been hiding in my desk for the past three months.

But that was then and this was now. I pulled myself out of my reverie and tried to focus on the present.

It was lunchtime and Alice called me out from my office and invited me to go down to the cafeteria with her and Jasper, our friend from the Intensive Care Unit of the hospital. We'd met him just six months prior, in a Seattle night club after Alice mistook him for an old friend from high school. In reality, Jasper Whitlock was an ex-marine from Charlotte, North Carolina, who had come to Washington to move in with a woman. The woman had left, but he had stayed and been trained as an RN. It was, therefor, in an odd twist of fate that Alice and I found a place for him at St. Mary's, by the grace of one of our very good friends there.

When we walked into the cafeteria, it was bustling with people, particularly a lot of pregnant women having just come from their Lamaze classes. Likewise, their husbands and boyfriends stood by their side, looking slightly dazed and confused as they shuffled through the large room from place to place. I got in line at one of the stations and waited, chewing absentmindedly on the flesh of my cheek.

"So, I heard a lot about that new patient of yours…Edward Cullen. Have you met him yet?" I nodded to Jasper hesitantly, listening to the sound of his slow southern drawl. His blue eyes gazed back at me, searching for some sort of information that I was unaware of. He'd always been something of a gossip, but I tried not to give him too much information. If Jasper know, he would use the information to his advantage, however he could. And, however harmless it was, I wasn't supposed to disclose personal information regarding the people I treated. "Well, aren't you the least bit interested in what I heard, Bella?" he questioned, prodding me like he usually did.

I shook my head. "Listen, Jazz, I don't want you corrupting my brain with all of these lies that you happened to pick up from the orderlies in emergency. His case file tells me what I need to know."

"Well, did you read the whole thing? I bet there's some stuff I heard that isn't in that little folder of yours."

I looked at him sideways, topping my French fries with enough ketchup to choke a horse. "How would that be?"

"Was that folder in the ER last night when that guy brought himself in screaming like a raving lunatic? He was bleeding all over the place too, Bells. I guess he slit his wrists and then panicked. I'm shocked he got as far as he did considering how bad the wounds were. He was in my unit for a while last night…cause I was covering the night shift for Maria, you know. I've never seen someone so vicious before."

I listened, but pretended like I didn't care, just scooting my tray down the metal bars that made up the lunch line to the register where an acne-faced boy rang up my food, then Alice and Jasper's. My one friend had dropped the ball on keeping me on the topic, but that wouldn't last. As soon as we sat down at our usual table in the corner of the dining area, Alice had started her own ball rolling.

"So you did meet him? I'm not assigned to that end of the hall this week, but I heard he's really good looking…some millionaire's son or something like that. It's quite a story, from what I hear."

I rolled my eyes, wondering where these two got all of this 'reliable' information. "Is that what you hear, Alice?"

Her head shook furiously, her eyes wide as she popped a tater tot into her open mouth and began to tap her nervous fingers against the linoleum table top. "Yeah…he supposedly got involved in the underworld and disappeared a few years back. They said he's real dangerous. That's the reputation he has, at least. They could always be over exaggerations, I guess."

"Yes, they could be. Regardless, he obviously has some severe psychological damage. There's a lot of depression there, and totally _unsuppressed_ anger. I feel bad for him."

I waited for a response, but I didn't get one. Alice and Jasper just sat there, staring at something behind my head. It wasn't until their mouths fell open that I decided I'd better take a look too. Craning my head over my shoulder, my eyes caught a glimpse of auburn hair, bright green eyes. It was him, roaming around the cafeteria looking for something, or someone. I got to my feet, rushing across the room to where he stood. This was a situation, but I wasn't sure of just how serious it was.

"Mr. Cullen?" I questioned, coming up behind him and tapping my hand on his shoulder to get his attention. "Mr. Cullen, what are you doing here? You're supposed to be in your room."

He spun around to face me, fury clear in his beautifully chiseled face. He wasn't happy, though he hadn't been the last time I'd seen him either. But now, he was crazed, out for blood. It was much more than I was prepared for and I tried to steady myself so that I could stand in front of the tall, slender man free of any fear. It was something about him that made me squirm. I didn't quite understand it, but I never felt very comfortable around him; in fact, I felt small. His eyes scanned my face, his hands clenching and unclenching as he appraised me, sized me up. I was an obstacle of some sort, and he was trying to figure out how difficult it would be to be rid of me.

"I've been forcibly admitted for treatment?" he asked, his voice quiet and deadly. He was seething and I flinched at the threat behind his words.

Wiping the shock from my countenance, I gave him the answer to his question, the one thing which I had planned on avoiding until our sessions were further along. It was the reason why he was here, the very core of it aside from just the slashed wrists that hung dejectedly at his sides. "My colleague, Dr. Morrison, did you meet him when you were first brought in?" I questioned. I knew he had, but I posed the question anyhow.

Edward nodded.

"You told him that you didn't try to kill yourself. You said that someone had tried to kill you. You said that someone had drugged you. Then you said something about wanting to kill them…he felt that you were unstable. Not that we're calling you crazy, Mr. Cullen. We're all just concerned with your wellbeing and—"

"Would you stop calling me Mr. Cullen? My name's Edward. Mr. Cullen is my father. And, yes, I hope I get to kill the bastard that did this to me. I swear to god, I did not do this to myself! Why would I do this to myself? You have to believe me. I don't need to be here and it's ridiculous that you're making me stay! It's un-fucking-believable, alright? I'm not suicidal."

But suicide wasn't the main concern. "I know you aren't, and what happened to you last night is something that we can discuss tomorrow during our appointment. I know this may be difficult for you. It's hard for everyone, but I think that I can really help you Mr. Cu—Edward. Now, why don't you let me take you back to your room, huh?"

He shook his head at me in refusal. The truth was that he was a danger to those around him, not himself, and I was afraid of what he would do. We all were. I'd seen the sort of crimes that an unstable mind could compel a body to commit on its behalf; I knew the warning signs and Edward was a time bomb just waiting to explode. "I'm not going back. You'll have them tie me down and I can't stand that. Dammit! Why won't you people listen to me?"

I spoke more calmly than ever now, running my hand down the length of his arm and patting his shaking hand. "I'm listening to you. I hear you. But in order for me to give them the okay to let you go, you have to listen and try to make progress. I won't let them use the restraints, but only if you promise to stay in your room. Those are the conditions. Take it or leave it."

I watched as he relaxed, defeated. He indicated yes, that he would take me up on my offer, then continued to talk to me. "I'll go back then." The words were bitter and he was prepared to turn and leave, but I stopped him.

"No, I'm going to take you up there myself, just to make sure you find your way alright." The truth was that I wanted to make sure he went where he was supposed to go, and I wanted to do it without having to call security. If I made him feel like a common inmate, he would trust me less. I would be the enemy and I didn't want that." Let me get my purse real quick and then we can go."

I started to turn around to head back to my table of wide-eyed friends, but this time it was Edward who stopped me. "I don't need a baby sitter, _Doctor_." Again, he said the title with such hatred and venom that it shocked me. It was almost as though he found it laughable, but I tried to brush the connotations of his emphasis away and focus on the issue at hand. I was doctor now, not a person. I didn't have feelings, wasn't insulted of intimidated. I was knowledgeable and profession and confident in my abilities.

"I'm not trying to baby sit you, Edward. This hospital is big. It's confusing. I'm only going to help you get back to your room and then I'll go." He nodded hesitantly and I walked back to where Alice and Jasper were waiting for me. "I'm taking him back. He's just a little confused. I think they told him that he was being forcibly admitted and he freaked out a little."

Jasper eyes me warily, shaking his head side to side in defiance. He didn't like the idea, I could tell. "No, Bella. He's bat-shit crazy—like really freaking crazy. You can't just go taking him around places like he's some harmless lost puppy. He's dangerous. You didn't see the fit he pitched in the ER last night. It was terrifying."

I rolled my eyes. This was what I did: took care of the crazy and the disturbed. "Relax, Jazz. I know what I'm doing. I'm trained for it, in fact. I'll be just fine. And, Alice, do you think you could wrap up my food and bring it up to my office when you finish? I don't think I'll have enough time to get back down here and eat."

She told me that she would and I walked away, my new patient in tow. He grumbled behind me, wringing his fists, but I was beginning to feel more comfortable with him. By the time we had reached the elevators, despite the curious stares of all the nurses and visitors bustling though the atrium, I felt safe. He wasn't a threat. He was just a poor, confused young man—a young man that I hoped to be capable of helping. Doubtless, I would need a few drinks after today and it would only get worse as the week wore on.

The elevator creaked and whined as it lifted us from floor to floor, finally settling at the entrance to the mental ward. When the doors opened, I heard the familiar sound of screaming coming from one of the first rooms on the left. Bree Tanner, one of our veteran patients, was throwing a tantrum on her bed as one of the younger girls fought to sedate with a needle to the arm. I ignored the display, but Edward stared, as most people who weren't used to these sorts of things did.

"Is she alright?" he asked, concern evident in his tone. It was the first time that I saw any true emotion, aside from anger, color his features and I had to admit that it suited him well. I smiled sadly, shrugging my shoulders.

"Bree is schizophrenic. She has breakdowns like this at least once a month…has for the past year and a half I think. Yeah, that's about right. It's unusual for such a young girl to be so severe, but I guess it is what it is."

He bobbed his head up and down, trying to understand just what he had gotten himself into. Only he didn't believe that he had really tried to kill himself. It wasn't odd for survivors to go into denial. What was odd was that he didn't argue that it was an accident. Rather, he insisted that there had been an attempt on his life by someone else's hands. He had been an almost-murder victim in his mind, and no one had yet been able to convince him otherwise.

Finally, we came to the door to his room and I stopped. "No more wondering, Edward. I'll be seeing you tomorrow at three o'clock sharp. You should be done with your physical checkup by then. So, good luck." And, with a smile, I left him there.


	4. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight.**

**Prescription for Danger by mng042197**

**Description: Dr. Bella Swan has been a psychiatrist in the mental ward at St. Mary's Hospital for the past year. She's seen all sorts of people coming and going. But Edward Cullen is a whole different story, himself painting a much more frightening picture of his supposed mental instability.**

I was fairly depressed by the time I got off work and was heading to my car which sat in the very back of St. Mary's parking lot. It was an old Chevy truck and I loved it deeply—a reminiscent of the car that Charlie had bought me when I first moved out of my mother's apartment. I was sixteen at the time, and the old Junker had only lasted me for the next five years. It was then that I was forced to put 'old faithful' in his grave and buy myself a decent replacement to fill the void.

I didn't realize that my phone was open in my hand until I was already thumbing through my contacts, involuntarily searching for a number which I discovered to be Jacob's. Numbly, I tapped the place on the screen where his name was spelled out in boring, block print and put the cell phone to my ear.

Jake and I had met when I was living in California when I was fifteen. He was a runaway and an aspiring musician/actor. At least, that was what he told me. In truth, he was a drifter, with a bad home life that he was just trying to get as far away from as possible. It was the one thing that we had in common, and our rapidly growing closeness had come with the territory. We didn't make friends easily, not close ones, because no one ever understood. But I understood him and he understood me and, somehow, he had become lifelong friend. More than anything, though, he'd become my very favorite drinking buddy.

"Hey, Jake," I said when I heard his deep, gruff voice on the other end of the line. He sounded tired and I guessed he must have slept in today…really slept in. It was almost five o'clock. "What you up to tonight?"

I could almost see him rubbing the palm of his hand over his eyes, scratching the back of his darkly tanned neck then running his fingers up into his short, black hair. Then, I could hear the smile in his voice. "You ready to go round two, Bells? You got pretty crazy last night, you know. You might wanna take it easy for a while."

Dread washed over me, and I just had to ask. "Jake, did we…_do_ anything last night?"

There was a moment of silence, then he started to laugh, unable to hold it in any longer and I knew that the evening had been uneventful—as far as my sex life was concerned at the very least. "Nah, Bells. You and I got into some stupid fight over your crappy car and you threw some shit at me. You ended up passing out on the couch, so I put you to bed and went on home. It was a very boring, very disappointing party, sorry to say." I breathed a joyful sigh of relief and told him to meet me at Monty's at six. I didn't need to go home and change—alcoholic that I was, I wanted to be comfy when I started tossing them back—but I knew that Jake would want to spruce himself up a bit. That silly little metrosexual…

As I waited for him in our usual place at the bar, I started thinking about my life and all of the mistakes I had made. Naturally, my mind wondered straight to Jacob and one fateful night when I was seventeen. We'd been partying, celebrating his twenty-first birthday I think, and true to form I got plastered. I remembered little bits and pieces of the events that followed—remembered how it had rained, how we had ran quickly from our friend's condo where his party was being held to his car which was parked up the street. I remembered how he had peeled the wet fabric of my dress away from my skin. I could even recall how the pain of him entering me had made me yelp out in discomfort. But, most of all, I just remembered being unimpressed. The majority of the incident was wildly forgettable and I promised I wouldn't ever do it again.

But that was an unrealistic promise, as my college years, as they progressed, inevitably brought more partying and inhibited judgment that I suppose I just wasn't smart enough to avoid. Jake and I had woken up next to each other at least three other mornings besides the first. And when it wasn't Jake, it was Mike or Tyler or sometimes James. Regrettably, none of them had ever been my boyfriend. In truth, I'd never had a real relationship outside of sex.

I was beginning to realize now that I was more like my mother than I ever would have thought: the men, the drunkenness, the loneliness and the shame and the promiscuity of all of my relations. My friends were distant and I wasn't too attached—to them or anyone else in my life. I felt empty and the scotch which I held in my shaking hand was the only thing that ever came close to filling that void.

Jake walked in just as I was about to take reign check for the evening, his smile a mile wide and all for me. He had always made me feel happier than I really was, if even for a little while only, and I guessed that was why I liked to be with him so much. I tried to smile back as he approached me and wrapped his strong arms around my fragile body. He was glad to see me and it made my day just a little less horrific. And even though I would probably try to injure him later on, I was glad to see him too.

It didn't take us long to get the ball rolling and before I knew it I'd downed three beers and one of those fruity drinks that girls were supposed to like. It had been Jake's idea to get me one and he'd laughed heartily at me when I declared that he wasn't going to fool me into believing that what was in my glass was really alcohol. I'd blushed then, but brushed it off and ordered myself another beer.

Sometime, halfway through the night, I called Emmett and asked him if he wanted to meet Jake and me for a late dinner only to remember that my brother lived 1,500 miles away, just outside of Phoenix, Arizona. I'd started to cry then, causing left over makeup to run down my cheeks. Emmett had laughed at me, of course, telling me to "go home and sober up, then call him in the morning." After, that it didn't take long for me to stumble onto the dance floor, brushing up against whoever was unlucky enough to end up with me as their partner. They were all a blur, until one of them caught my eye.

He was tall and dark, dangerous looking. His body, like Edwards, was adorned with tattoos, scattering down his arm and up to his shoulder, around his back. His eyes captured my gaze as he pulled me back towards his booth in the corner, offering to buy me a drink. Naturally, I agreed. What else was I to do? And he was so handsome, so kind. In many ways, he did in fact remind me of Edward. So maybe that's the reason that I said yes when he invited me back to his apartment, the reason that I broke my beer bottle over Jacob's head when he tried to get me to come home with him instead.

By the time the morning had come around, I knew that it was just precisely the reason. It was the sex appeal, the attraction, the intoxicated haze that landed me in a complete stranger's bed, somewhere halfway across town at four in the morning. I opened my eyes, screamed and ran out of the foreign apartment half dressed. I don't know how I got home, but I know that I must have because, at some point, I did change my clothes.

When I woke up in my office the next morning, dressed in a baggy gray sweater and leggings that I had neglected to wash for the past week and half, my body felt incredibly sore. It had been bad sex; I could feel it even if my mind couldn't quite locate the memories of the encounter. The stranger, whoever he was, had been rough and hurried and I hadn't enjoyed myself very much at all. It had been a mistake, just one more to add to the extremely long and forever elongating list.

When I looked at the clock, I saw that it was almost noon. My first appointment was in an hour. Not only that, but there would be quite a few more to follow, including my session with Edward which, for some strange reason, had my stomach in knots. I was nervous about seeing him, nervous about talking to him. Why, I didn't know. It didn't make much sense, logically. But then I thought of his eyes and his strong jaw, the ink that curled gracefully over the skin of his neck, and I could admit that I felt something of an attraction. He wasn't my usual type—not by a longshot—but there was something about him that I found ridiculously fascinating. He was a mystery and I wanted to know all about him, his past, his present, every corner of his disturbed mind, every crevice of his body.

I was making myself uncomfortable. My nerves were on edge and the hangover certainly wasn't helping. So I retried the pack of cigarettes from my purse which was flung carelessly on the sofa and a set of keys from my desk drawer and went to unlock the door out to the balcony. It was one of the perks that came with this office: just a small outdoor section, big enough for three people to stand comfortably. In truth, I wasn't supposed to be out there at all, but I had earned the title of doctor and who would reprimand me for my slight bending of the rules.

Standing on the ledge and looking out over the expressway which sprawled out to the side of the hospital's west wing, I lit one of the cigarettes and took a long drag. It was a bad habit that I'd picked up when I was seventeen, and I'd been trying to quit for years. But it wasn't any different from the rest of my lifestyle in that I simply didn't care enough to reign myself in against the urge. I let the time slip away, counting it by the number of cigarettes that disappeared from the brand new pack—one, two, three, five. I was sufficiently buzzed by the nicotine now and reaching for the pain pills in the side pocket of my purse when Alice glided gracefully through the door.

"Your first patient is here, Bella. They're waiting for you."

I nodded, extinguishing the stub against the brick wall of St. Mary's and turning to start my day.

By the time I made it through my second appointment of the day, I was feeling like a cat on a hot tin roof. It was just another therapy session, and Edward Cullen was just another troubled soul, just another patient that I needed to treat. My body, on the other hand, disagreed violently. I slipped in another cigarette between 1:30 and 2:00 o'clock and slipped into my chair just in time for him to come striding though the door into my office, my knee bouncing like it was the first day of school or something silly like that.

"Hello, Edward. How are you today?" I asked, smiling sweetly and scratching the back of my neck nervously. I chuckled at the fact that this was something that Jacob would do, but quickly regained my composure.

"I'm shitty…and you?" He was trying to be funny; that was the worst part: the crooked grin that graced his lips as he grunted out his gruff retort.

"I'm just fine, thank you. Now, how would you like to st—"

"Bullshit." Edward interrupted me and I looked up from my notebook with surprise. I didn't understand, so I waited in silence for an explanation, silently asking him to tell me just what he meant by this. And that he did, readily. "You're not fine, _Doctor_." For the third time, he spat the word out venomously. "For one, you're hung over. I can tell by the way you squint every time you look up, and the way you flinch every time my voice gets too loud. You've got a migraine and it's killing you. And you've been smoking like a chimney all afternoon. How do I know? Because you reek of tobacco. No, I'm not judging you. In fact, I wish you'd share. But that's not the point. I think, if anything, the point is that you probably never went home last night because you're hung over and that's a men's sweater.

"Bottom line is that you're not any better than me, Swan. You have just as many demons and I don't think I should have to sit here and have you tell me about my mental health because yours, in my humble opinion, is probably just as fucked."

My mouth fell open in shock. I'd never had a patient speak to me that way and it stunned me a little. More shocking than his rant, however, was my response to it. To begin with, I was infuriated, insulted. But, if I was being honest with myself, I had to admit that it made me like him just a little bit more. It was his confidence, his dominance, his boldness and bravery. The way the vein in his neck bulged when he was angry, the way his fists clenched, all seemed highly erotic from where I sat. But I knew how stupid those feelings were.

"I'm sorry?" I questioned, not entirely sure that I had heard him right. In truth, I was more distracted than anything.

"You heard me, _Doc_. You're full of shit."

This really hit home for me and, suddenly, I found myself doing something completely wrong. It was against everything I had ever been taught, against everything that my brain was screaming at me in that moment, but I ignored all that. I had to.

"You wanna have a smoke and we can talk?"

And there was that perfect crooked smirk spreading over his smug face as he nodded and stood to follow me out onto the balcony.


	5. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight.**

**Prescription for Danger by mng042197**

**Description: Dr. Bella Swan has been a psychiatrist in the mental ward at St. Mary's Hospital for the past year. She's seen all sorts of people coming and going. But Edward Cullen is a whole different story, himself painting a much more frightening picture of his supposed mental instability.**

_Author's Note: Hey everyone who is following this story. Thank you so much for reading. I hope you keep reading and enjoy! Reviews _

I don't know if it was because he was the first person to really call me on my own shit. Maybe it was his smile or the way he saw right through my pretenses. He didn't respect me as his superior. He didn't think I was better or saner than he was. I was just a person and he could recognize the signs of damage. In a certain way, I guess I found it refreshing, but that was wrong. I was his psychiatrist. Our relationship was strictly profession and, more than anything, I needed to remember that he was here with me for a reason. Edward wasn't all there and it was my job to discover just why.

Realizing that this might have been either the biggest mistake I could have made or the most genius tactic I could have come up with, I dragged two small chairs from the corners of my office out onto the balcony and sat down, patting the seat next to me. Edward followed my directions for once and quickly snatched up the pack of Marlborough's in his hand, withdrawing one and putting it up too his full lips. They curled around the little stick tightly and I couldn't help but watch him, just the way he moved, the way he carried himself. I was drawn to him. Coming to my senses, I brushed my thoughts away from me and focused on the task at hand. I waited, thinking of what I would say, how I would begin. He lit the cigarette with a lighter that came out of nowhere, then lit mine with the tip of it. Once it was in my hand, I looked away, thinking clearer when I wasn't seeing his face.

"So, is this the customary format for therapy sessions or am I just_ special_?" There was no choice but for me to glance back and I saw that he was grinning with satisfaction.

I laughed because I couldn't think of any other explanation. Maybe, it had something to do with the shambles that my own life was in at the moment. Liking that idea, I blamed my behavior on that. "I guess I'm feeling a little more giving than usual. Consider yourself pretty damn lucky." He grinned at me, inhaling deeply and then allowing the smoke to billow freely from his lips, swirling up and over his head gracefully. I felt like I was a teenager all over again, sitting on the back steps of the library with Jake and his friends, just being me, free to say and do whatever I wanted. I wasn't the stuffy med student, or the serious, doctor ruled by professionalism. I was just Bella, more in touch with my flawed half that I was on most days, and it was liberating.

"Hey, don't flatter yourself, Doctor. I seem to have that effect of people."

I stopped for a moment to consider the effect, to dissect his body language and think of my own psychological confusion. Was I trying to get close to him because it was my job to weed out his insides, find his deepest secrets, or was there an ulterior motive? Did I want him to like me for some other reason that even I was unaware of? I decided that I couldn't answer those questions now, that I would have to feel out the situation, find my own boundaries. I would have to make up my mind about Edward's mental state and then I could ponder my own.

"So, how do you want to start this? Is there anything in particular that you'd like to talk about?"

"Is that how it begins?" he questioned, raising an eyebrow at me. "You try to entrap me by asking me if there's anything on my mind? Well, let me tell you, there's plenty of shit going on, not that I'm going to tell you any of it. Not unless you tell me about your life, of course…then we have equal leverage."

I bit my lip, shaking my head in amazement. He wouldn't go quietly, I knew that for sure. He was going to fight me the entire way and I would have to pay dearly for whatever he allowed me to know about him and his mysterious lifestyle. All of the rumors: were they true? Or was it just more bullshit gossip? There was no way of knowing unless he himself told me. That, or I would have to do some serious detective work and I wasn't a fan of snooping, especially in places that I didn't belong. If Edward was a real criminal, I was sure that any poking around that I did would only get me into more trouble than I was already in. Things could get shady fast and that was the last thing that I needed.

"You know, there is a reason that I became a psychiatrist instead of just going to one. I don't like to share."

Edward chuckled at my avoidance then sighed in resolve. "Then you'd better figure out something else to do for the next hour 'cause I'm not telling you anything. I don't need to be here anyways."

And that was where my last ounce of sanity left me. He'd provoked me and I couldn't take it. Had it been anyone else, I would have found another way. But, for some reason, I felt as though I had no choice but to give into his demands. "Fine—an answer for an answer. Do we have a deal?"

Edward thought for a moment, then nodded. "Alright, that seems fair. But I have to warn you; you won't believe a word I tell you. I'm probably committing myself with every word. But I need someone to believe what I'm saying. I'm not crazy, I swear. It's those fucking psychos…I didn't try to kill myself. I swear I didn't."

I shook my head in understanding, feeling like I should be writing this down in my notebook. But something told me I would get farther if I kept this casual, relaxed. "What did happen that night?" I asked, looking deep into his bright green eyes, trying to lift the answers I was looking for from his brain. I saw a flash of anger move over his features. But just as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone and his face was again perfectly composed into a mask of indifference.

"I don't think we're ready to talk about that. Why don't you ask me about my childhood or some shit like that? Isn't that what you people are supposed to do? Help me get in touch with my inner child?"

I shrugged, biting back the snort that was threatening to come out. "Sometimes,"

"Then let me start by saying he's a bastard. You don't want to meet. I try to keep him at home as much as possible. You know, he's a kid. He gets grounded a lot…been getting me into trouble for the last twenty-seven years."

This time, I had to laugh. "Is that so? It doesn't surprise me. Why don't you tell me about your parents?"

I knew as soon as the words escaped my lips that this was a sensitive subject. Apparently, however, it was the least dangerous. That was why he'd chosen it. He wanted me to understand him, wanted me to know him so that maybe, just maybe, I would believe him. With wet, glistening eyes, he turned to me and opened his mouth to speak.

"Well, I guess I've got to tell you about them, don't I?"

He watched as she waited patiently for him to tell her about his parents but his stomach was churning and he was suddenly—stupidly—beginning to regret not telling her the story of how he'd almost died. His parents were the root of his problems but he needed to talk about it. She needed to know. Because there was something inside of her that he could sense, some connection that he just needed to tap into. She liked him already and she didn't even know him. And lord knew he liked her.

"My parents met in my father's office. He's..an important man. He took over our "_small family business_" when he was just twenty-three and he's ruled with an iron fist every day since."

The doctor's eyes flashed with suspicion and she asked the question that he didn't want to respond to. Yet it was necessary. "When you say small family business…what is he, the Godfather or something?"

Edward chuckled, running a hand nervously through his tousled auburn hair. He was uncomfortable and she could see that. But she wouldn't stop pressing until he sufficiently discussed what they had agreed to. Then, he would take his turn at playing therapist. "Yeah, I guess you could say that. To me, he's just good old dad. Carlisle, more like. He was never a father to me and my "mother" has changed every two years since Esme died. I don't blame him for that. I think he really did lose something when she went. It changed him, or so I'm told, but it doesn't excuse the fact that he's a murdering, manipulative bastard.

"He wanted me to get on the political fast track. He wanted new connections in government and I was his eldest son. I was young and moldable and good with people and all he saw in me was what he could accomplish. Just the kind of corruption that he could create…if I had stayed, that is…"

The doctor nodded, trying to pretend that this confession didn't shock her. Usually, she dealt with physical abuse, sexual abuse, psychological damage or neglect. But this was crime. It was real deviousness at its very core and she didn't know how to respond to that. "So you resent him?" Edward shook his head yes. She didn't seem to be judging him, but he could only hope. He didn't want her judgment. For some unknown reason, he wanted this beautiful woman's acceptance. He wanted her to comfort him, to gratify him. In short, he just wanted her and, if he played his cards right, he though he just might be able to get what he wanted. "Why exactly did you leave home, Edward? How did that come about?"

He considered continuing with his life story, but instead decided to refuse. "Oh, no, no, no. I answered on of your questions. Now it's your turn in the hot seat."

She readjusted herself in her chair, taking a nervous drag from her cigarette and coughing uncomfortably. "What do you want to know?"

He thought. What did he want to know first? "Why did you become a doctor?"

It was a simple enough inquiry, but the answer was more complicated than he could have imagined. She was complex, he could tell, but he was undecided as to just how much actual trauma had shaped her personality. "Well," the doctor began, clearing her throat and running her tongue briefly over her full, sensual lips. He was distracted for a moment before being brought back to his senses by the sound of her voice. "My home life was…bad. I had good grades. I always had good grades. I graduated high school when I was just fifteen. And, at first, I picked up the college applications just for the hell of it. I was curious, but I think I always had other motives. I filled them out and left them in my desk for the longest time and, whenever things would get bad, I would almost send them out. But I didn't, not until one day when things got even worse. I was done. So I applied and I got accepted to UCLA. I guess I became a doctor because that's what everyone expected me to do. I had come so far, gotten a full ride scholarship. They said I was gifted and I just wanted to be free. I never wanted to have to go back to my old life, so I did the one thing that everyone told me would make me rich and free."

It was a simple enough story, but it gave Edward some insight into the woman before him. She was amazing, more amazing than he had originally thought. She was his new obsession, his new curiosity. He would have her if he had to take her by force. She was his; she was meant to be his. There was just something in the way she spoke, her demeanor that told him a truth about her that not even her closest friends had recognized. She _was_ free, or at least she had the potential to be. On the inside, this girl was wild and he wanted to unleash her on the world. He wanted to show her what she could be, what they could be together. And he would do just that, no matter what it took.

Then, something occurred to him. "I don't even know your first name, Doctor. Do you have one or is it just Doctor?"

She smiled tightly at him, putting the cigarette butt out on the wall beside her. "You know, I'm not supposed to give you more than one answer at a time. But, like I said, I'm feeling especially giving today so I'm going to humor you." Leaning in close, she whispered in his ear. "Don't tell anyone, but my name isn't doctor…it's _Bella!"_


	6. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight.**

**Prescription for Danger by mng042197**

**Description: Dr. Bella Swan has been a psychiatrist in the mental ward at St. Mary's Hospital for the past year. She's seen all sorts of people coming and going. But Edward Cullen is a whole different story, himself painting a much more frightening picture of his supposed mental instability.**

I don't know what came over me that after noon, but it was wrong. I felt guilty and dirty and lost, like I'd just sold out on every moral I had ever worked to instill in myself. I was a drunk, a slut even, but I wasn't this person. I wasn't this corrupt.

Edward was still in my office, smiling and trying to convince me that he wasn't crazy. It's been nearly an hour and half since our session begin and we were running over time. I'd learned that he'd played baseball since he was nine, that he'd run on the track team in high school and dabbled in drag racing beginning his senior year. That was his first arrest. More followed, but he wouldn't go into detail—not just yet. "I want this to be a fair trade," he'd explained and even though it was completely unorthodox I let him get away with it.

I told him how I had been in ballet classes for a short period of time when I was very young, but that I'd had to quit when I was eight and my mother moved us to Colorado to live with her current boyfriend at that time. High school was a sour subject to me. It had been a part of those final days when I'd finally had enough. The things I'd seen in those days were a part of my life that not even I truly understood or wished to understand. So, I kept my mouth shut. Instead, I told Edward about beginning college, moving to California, living with my brother, meeting Jake. He watched me with what seemed to be awe, complimenting me on my achievements. But that was nothing new to me. People had always told me I was smart. It was the rest of me, aside from my intellectual mind, that seemed to be lacking.

"You're not a very good doctor, Bella. You should have done something more…interesting with yourself."

I looked at him sideways, questioning his conclusion. I was good at what I did. I just happened not to be good at doing it with Edward. "What would you suggest I do?" I snapped, waiting to hear his solution to this "problem."

He put his hand to his chin, running his fingers over the stubble there and thinking long and hard. Then, a devious smirk crept across his smug face and I couldn't help but chuckle just a little bit. "You would have made a wonderful call girl…" he told me, winking. "Smart and sexy."

At first, I was a little taken back, then I smiled at him, shaking my head. It was time for me to end this encounter before things went too far, before I had gone past the point of no return. These were dangerous boundaries to cross and I couldn't allow them to be tested. "Alright, then, I think it's time for you to go now, Edward."

Slowly, I got to my feet, leading him towards the door to my office. I needed him to leave, and leave quickly before I did something that we would both regret later on. If anyone found out about this, I would lose him as a patient, or worse lose my job. And if I lost my job, he would have to find another psychiatrist to clear his dirtied, sinful name. But Edward would have none of that and he stopped me before I could open the door.

"Am I making you uncomfortable?" I shrugged.

"This just isn't appropriate, Ed—"

"Because I'm just telling you the truth…you are smart. And sexy, especially that."

"Thanks, I appreciate the compliment. But you really do have to go. I have other patients to see and I'll be seeing you back here tomorrow. If we get right down to it, and I determine that you aren't dangerous, you might be free to go by the end of the week, that is if you feel you're ready to be on your own. If you don't feel like you trust yourself, of course we can always make arrangements for a longer stay or—"

"I trust myself just fine, doc, with myself anyway. With you…I'm not so sure."

I didn't say another word, just opened the door to my office and ushered him out, placing a hand on his wide shoulders and pushing him, perhaps a bit too forcefully, back out into the hallway. Alice was there, natural, bright eyes waiting to see just who this mysterious patient of mine was. I watched as she gaped at him, trying not to be too obvious and failing miserably. I motioned for her to come into my office and she nodded, slipping past Edward, just nearly missing his right arm with hers.

"You have something to tell me?" she asked, eagerly waiting for whatever gossip was about to come her way. And boy was this one a doozey, a real gem.

I shut the door behind me, pulling her back out onto the balcony and closing that door behind us as well. I wanted to make sure we were alone, make sure that no one would hear what I was about to tell my best friend. Alice was the only one who could know, the only one who I would ever think of trusting with this sort of information in a million years. "I have a problem, Al."

I could feel my hands clamming up, my pulse speeding just the same as it had when Edward had called me sexy. It was stupid, but I couldn't ignore how the temperature seemed to rise along with the stakes.

"What is it, Bella?" she prodded, but I was still searching for the right words.

"Well…" and I paused, formulating the sentences in my mind before I let them out into the open. "…I don't think this is going to go very well for me, Ali. Edward is…not what I expected. I don't know how else to say it. And I'm in dangerous territory."

"I don't understand. Bella, you're rambling."

"Edward likes me, I think. I mean, he's attracted to me, or he's just trying to manipulate me. Either one, it doesn't matter."

"Was he flirting with you?" she inquired, her voice shrill now, lovely, honey brown eyes wide with excitement. This was what Alice lived for. I knew it and she knew it, but if I told her it was a secret I also knew that she wouldn't tell a soul.

I shook my head yes, putting my hand to my aching forehead and trying to focus on the problem at hand. I would have to see him every day until he left, but I didn't know how I would do that without testing my boundaries. Could I discharge him now? If he did something crazy, I would ruin my career. I had to treat this like any other case, and I would have to treat Edward Cullen like any other patient I had ever treated.

"Well, I saw him and he certainly is…attractive. But, Bella, what are you going to do about him? Obviously you wouldn't want to be with someone like that. And he's only here because he tried to kill himself."

I turned on her now, angrily. "You think I don't know that, Alice?" She shied away from me, but I quickly reigned in my emotions. "Sorry, I shouldn't have said anything. There's nothing to do but get though the next week or however long it takes. Then he'll be gone from my life forever. Listen, I have to go home. I don't feel well. Do you think you could reschedule Mary to see Dr. Pollok?"

Alice nodded, half-stunned. She wouldn't contest me. That was just the way she was. Wrongfully, she trusted me to make my own decisions. She trusted me to take care of myself when it came to relationships and stress. She should have known better. She should have known that I was going home to a bottle of scotch and a couple tranquilizers. But I couldn't blame Alice for my problems because that wasn't right. She was my friend—my very greatest friend—and she only wanted what was best for me. All this I knew, but I couldn't help the frustration that was bellied in my gut.

Hurriedly, I grabbed my purse and made my way out to the parking lot, into my car. I don't remember the drive home, don't remember pouring myself a glass of white wine and sitting down on the couch, bottle in hand. I was in a haze. The only thing that pulled me out of it was the sound of my cell phone ringing in my pocket. Picking it up, I saw my Emmett's face smiling back at me, a goofy look on his handsome face.

I picked up the phone, put it to my ear. "Hey, Em. What's up?" There was a long silence on the other end of the phone line and I could tell that he was working up courage. Whatever he had to tell me, it wasn't good and, boy, I just couldn't wait. My resolve not to drink myself into a stupor completely demolished, finished off the glass and, rather than pouring another, simple put my lips to the rim of the bottle and tossed it back. "Come on, Emmett! I don't have all damn day!"

"Are you drinking again?" he asked, that big-brother tone seeping into his deep, masculine voice. Usually, this would have warmed my heart—his protectiveness over me—but I hated it when he rebuked me for my lifestyle.

"So what if I am?"

My brother was disappointed in me. He knew what it was like to live with a drunk, just as well as I did, and he didn't want that for me. He didn't want me to have a family this way, didn't want me to inflict my problems on someone else, an innocent bystander in all of this mess. The bottom line was that Emmett thought I was a drunk and it hurt him more than I could stand.

"I'm not calling to criticize you, Bells. I just wanted to tell you that Renee called and she wants us to come see her. She's fallen on hard times…again. And usually I would say 'forget it' but I really feel like we should go this time. I want to go, but I won't go alone. I want you to come to Colorado with me."

I snorted in agitation, swallowing down another gulp of alcohol and feeling it sting the back of my throat. "Is that where she is now?"

"Bells, please don't be this way. I know that things got worse after I left, but I think you'll regret it if you don't go see her. Renee's getting older, you know."

"Yeah, I know…but you don't Emmett! You don't fucking know! That's the problem, and you never will know!" I was losing it now and the buzz wasn't helping me with my self-control. I was getting tired and all I really wanted to do was go to bed and never, ever leave. Searching through my bag, I slipped two pills into my mouth and swallowed them dry. "Listen, Em, I can't do what you want me to do. I'm sorry, but you'll have to go alone."

And I hung up. Renee and I were over. That part of my life was done and I wouldn't ever go back. I didn't want the reminder, didn't want to have to watch her waste away in a drunken heap. It was future, I knew, if I didn't change my ways, and more than anything I really didn't want to face that truth. So, instead, I threw my phone hard up against the wall of my apartment and dragged my feet across the cold, hard wood floor to my bedroom. The bed was cool and, as I shivered, I wrapped my comforter around my body and closed my eyes, quickly falling asleep where none of this could hurt me.


	7. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight.**

**Prescription for Danger by mng042197**

**Description: Dr. Bella Swan has been a psychiatrist in the mental ward at St. Mary's Hospital for the past year. She's seen all sorts of people coming and going. But Edward Cullen is a whole different story, himself painting a much more frightening picture of his supposed mental instability.**

When I was just eight, my mother met a man named Phil Dwyer. He was large and muscular, with thick dark hair and pale green eyes. In a lot of ways, he had always reminded me of Emmett. But he was nothing like him. Phil and Renee dated for a month or so before he moved into our two bedroom apartment, forcing us all together in a fatally poisonous environment filled with sex, drugs and alcohol. By this time, my brother was already a teenager, and I was well on my way. We understood what was happening; we were old enough to appreciate it, to be traumatized by it.

For a while, the new couple was fine. Renee had stopped drinking and quit smoking and Phil, a professional baseball player, was bringing money to our household that we had never imagined in our wildest dreams. It wasn't wealth that he had given us, but stability and that meant so much more than one would dream it could. But time passed and, inevitably, Renee and Phil began to fight and, one day, she came home with a bottle of chardonnay. This only got worse, the chardonnay becoming vodka. And when Phil cut her off completely, she resorted to drinking the cooking sherry on the top shelf of the spice cabinet.

It was a stormy night in July, I think, that he hit her for the first time. I saw it from the doorway of my bedroom and quickly ran down the hall to where Emmett slept, tears running down my soft, childish cheeks. I cried for hours, until the moment I fell asleep. I was so sure that Phil had made a mistake, because I wanted so badly to believe that things could be just exactly like they had been when Renee had first brought her new boyfriend home. I wanted them to smile and laugh and enjoy each other, enjoy us, for as long as they possibly could. But the golden days were over and it was time for a reality check. No one broke the cycle. Alcoholics would always disappoint you and the men they chose as partners would usually come to disappoint you too, for one reason or another.

Over the next few months, I visited the emergency room with my mother more than a dozen times—broken bones, cracked ribs, a head injury and even one accidental overdoses along with severe alcohol poisoning. I got to know some of the nurses there over Renee's many stints in rehabilitation for one thing or another. They took me out to lunch and brought me upstairs to see her. Then, they walked me down to the front door and released me in to Phil's "capable" hands.

I was always afraid to go home with him, afraid of what he might do to me if

I wasn't obedient. He'd never hit me before, but it had taken him time to tire of my mother too. And as the days went on, he became less and less patient with me. I started lying to him, telling him that I had joined after school clubs when, really, I was taking naps at the local library. On the weekends, though I had no desire to see Renee at all, I went to the hospital. This lasted for months, then my mother was released and I was forced to stay home.

Things were fine for a while, but it inevitably started all over again. Only, this time, it was worse. The night that Renee was lifelined to the ER for an "accidental" tumble down a flight of stairs in our apartment building, I found myself faced with a much more terrifying scenario. I was nine by now, and Emmett was long gone from my life. He never came home, never bothered. He was trying his hardest to run away from all of this and no one could stop him. I didn't even want to.

The next day, I went to school sporting my very first shiner.

Today, Edward was telling me about his own childhood experience, how his father had punished him as a kid. It was horrifying, some of it, and the rest just seemed unreal. Since that first session, he'd opened up to me. Now, I was beginning to see how he had come to be this way: angry and tortured. He was an abused child, just like me.

"By the time I was a teenager, I'd gotten into some criminal activity. But it wasn't what Pops wanted from me. He thought I could do more, thought I was a disgrace to the family. Somehow, I ended up on the other side of the line, and when I did he sent his guys to beat me into submission. I was his son, his only son; he wouldn't kill me…not yet anyway.

"I don't remember much other than that I was down on thirty-eighth street when I saw the boys coming after me. Spent six weeks in the hospital. After that, I made up my mind. I wouldn't raise one more fucking finger to help that man for as long as I lived. I would break him and his whole operation wide open. I hated them. So, I joined the police academy and did that for a while. But I realized I'd never have satisfaction that way. I needed to do better, needed to really see them fry. Around the time I was twenty I started doing work for the Denali's. They were my father's top competition and I couldn't think of a better way to disrespect him than to become his arch enemy. And that's how it happened, I guess; that's how my father started to hate me. But I hated him long before all of that, forever, I think."

I paused for a moment, taking it all in. Edward had told me a lot that I hadn't been prepared to hear. I should have been frightened. He was a dangerous criminal. But I couldn't help but feel sorry for him. I related to him in some strange way, because on the inside we were the same: two kids trying to run away from the people who had hurt them more than anyone else ever could. They were our parents, and they were supposed to protect us, but they had destroyed us. After that, however we dealt with it was simply a byproduct. It wasn't their fault, necessarily, but neither of us could have become what we were without their help.

"Do you feel a sense of rejection by your father?"

Edward thought for a second, searching my eyes with his bright green irises before he settled on an answer. "I think I used to. I got over that a long time ago. Now, I have to live with the consequences."

I didn't understand. "So your relationship with your father…you feel like it's affected your life in a negative way."

"Definitely. It's the entire problem."

I could see it now, a picture of his life with little love or caring. He wanted the acceptance of his father, but he was a disappointment through rebellion. And his father's profession got in the way. Edward changed then, in a way so permanent that I didn't think he would ever be able to change. As a psychiatrist, I had been taught that everyone could be helped. Yet, as a person with their own damage and demons, I knew that it was much easier said than done.

"Bella," he began, drawing my attention back to the present moment. "Do you think, if we were to meet just by chance, as people, that we would have been friends?"

I was a bit surprised, at first, but I had known all along that he liked me. It was obvious. So, I smiled at him, placing my notebook down in my lap along with the pen that I had been holding tightly between my bony fingers. "We are friends, Edward."

He grinned at me brightly before rising to his feet. Our session was over and it was time for my next patient. Ironically, however, I didn't want this part of my job to be over. I enjoyed talking to him, enjoyed being close to him and, if I was being honest with myself, I would admit that I didn't really want him to leave at all. Following behind him, I shoved down the disappointment and decided to remain professional.

"Well, I'll be seeing you tomorrow then."

"Yeah." Edward said, loitering in the doorway. "I've really enjoyed our talks."

"I grinned, happy with the compliment. Then, something that I hadn't expected at all happened. Suddenly, there were lips against mine, however briefly, and then they were gone and so was the man to whom they belonged. For a minute, I just stood there, wondering what in the world had just happened. I was confused, at first, and then it dawned on me. I had just crossed the line—into a physical relationship with one of my patients.

Edward had kissed me, and now everything was going to be turned upside down. Because more shocking than anything was the fact that I wanted to do it again.

oo**oo

He'd made a spur of the moment decision that he was now regretting. Only he didn't really regret it. He had wanted to kiss her. He still wanted to kiss her. Because she wasn't Doctor Swan. She was Bella and she was the most beautiful woman he had ever met, not in an obvious way but in a way that made him wish he was a better person. Bella was broken and flawed but she was also smart and strong. She hadn't shared much of her life with him, but he could see the pain hidden behind her eyes. He had known that first day they had ever met together, when she'd invited him out onto the balcony instead of forcing him to stay in the office. He'd always known and he'd always wanted her.

He sat in his room, feet up on the squeaky hospital-bed mattress, hands cupped behind his head, just thinking of what had just transpired a few hours before. It was closing time now and visiting hours were over. The halls were quiet and the light was dimmed, except for one light down at the end of the hall. It was Bella's office and Edward had been watching the door to that room all night, just waiting to see what she looked like when she finally emerged. He wanted to see the effect he had had on her and he would wait up all night if he had to. At least, that was what he thought up until three o'clock when he, against his will, fell asleep.

Within an hour, he was awoken by the sound of a creaking door, but he didn't move. He didn't open his eyes either, when the footsteps moved across the linoleum floor of his room. And when he felt the weight redistributing his body on the bed, he didn't even flinch. He waited, the air abnormally thick as he felt a hand running over the skin of his arm. It was her—it was Bella—and she was touching him, looking down on him, thinking that he was asleep. Edward knew she must feel the same way about him as he did about her, that she must feel the attraction there. He was no longer at all doubtful that he could have her. He would have her. It was certain.

Slowly, he felt her moving, then the gentle pressing of her lips to his own. Involuntarily, he moved with her, enjoying the moment that she spent attached to his mouth. Then she was gone, a gasp lingering in the air. She was shocked at what she had done, but Edward didn't think he could have been happier. He was halfway there, halfway to freedom and revenge. And nothing would stop him now.


	8. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight.**

**Prescription for Danger by mng042197**

**Description: Dr. Bella Swan has been a psychiatrist in the mental ward at St. Mary's Hospital for the past year. She's seen all sorts of people coming and going. But Edward Cullen is a whole different story, himself painting a much more frightening picture of his supposed mental instability.**

_Important! Hey, everybody. First of all I just wanted to say how happy I am that you guys are enjoying the fic. Sorry if I haven't updated in a few days…life's been kind of crazy. Anywho, I would really like to get some more reviews just to see what everyone is thinking and what they want to see happen in the story, so after you read the update pretty, pretty please, REVIEWS! Love you all!_

"Shit! Shit, shit, shit! Oh, Fuck!" I screamed, walking quickly through the parking garage towards my car. I couldn't believe what I'd just done. All of the work that I'd done, all of the suffering that I'd endure to get to where I was and I had thrown it all away on a moment of insanity and some bullshit sense of physical attraction. "God, I'm such a fucking spaz! You idiot!" He'd kissed me first, but his kiss had been so much more innocent than mine—just a second of contact and then he was gone. But I had lingered, enjoyed the sensation as our mouths moved slowly against one another. I wasn't sure if he had woken up, or if his body had acted on impulse, but I hoped that he wouldn't have any recollection of the incident in the morning.

Ducking my head, I got into the driver's seat of my truck and shut the door behind me, locking it. The hours had flown by and it was well into the early morning by now. The shadows were growing, the sound of sirens filling my ears as the city's night-time activity picked up. I was tired and uncomfortable and I needed to go home. My key slid easily into the ignition and I turned it, waiting for the engine to roar noisily to life, but it didn't. I twisted it again, and again, but to no avail. Nothing happened. I had to admit, I was a little scared. But it wouldn't be the first time I'd had car trouble and it certainly wouldn't be the last. Over the years, I'd practically become my own mechanic with Jake by my side to show me the ropes. Regardless, if I couldn't fix whatever was wrong with my truck, it would be the first time I'd spent the night in my office either. Grabbing my jean jacket from the passenger seat and shrugging it onto my shoulder, I stepped back out onto the concrete and walked around to the front of the car. With some difficulty, I heaved the hood up taking a look inside. Everything looked normal. I didn't understand.

"Weird…" I mused, staring confoundedly at the hunk of metal. But I wasn't able to focus on that much longer because I suddenly felt something pressed up against the back of my head—the barrel of a gun.

"Put your hands up where I can see them!" a gruff voice shouted and I did as I was told. My palms shook with fear, my eyes involuntarily slamming closed. I didn't know what to do. And I guessed that there really weren't too many choices. I just had to comply and hope that this didn't go as badly as I assumed it would. "Put the hood down and back away from the car!"

I slammed the large thing down and took a few steps backwards, the metal of the pistol still pressed firmly into the back of my scull. I couldn't breathe, couldn't swallow, could hardly feel my heart beating in my chest. All I could do was think about what to do next, think of something that might save me. I didn't know what my assailant wanted; I would have to wait for him to tell me that part. But it didn't hurt to offer him things that I could bare to part with. "Do you want money?" I asked. "There's two-hundred dollars in my wallet. Here, I can—" I had begun to reach into my back pocket when he cocked the gun, threatening to fire. "Okay, fine. Reach right into that pocket and you'll find my wallet. It's all I have with me, I swear. I don't even have a credit card. I left it at home."

From behind me there came a loud, hardy chuckle, as though this were the funniest thing he had ever heard. "I don't want your damn money, doctor. I need you to do me a little favor." He paused and I waited, assuring him with a nod of the head that I would comply with his demands. Just what they were was what frightened me and my chest constricted as I ran through all the possibilities. "Turn around." the man told me and I spun slowly on my heels to face him.

He was an average sized man with pale blue eyes, short blonde hair and a baby face which didn't quite fit well with the weapon he held in his large, calloused hands. He was almost childlike, but there was no hesitation or fear hidden in his juvenile features. He was prepared to kill me, and I wasn't his fist victim either. I certainly wouldn't be his last.

"What do you want from me?" I asked, trying to twist my features into an expression that might make him feel some sympathy for me.

For the longest moment, there was silence as he sized me up, his eyes scanning my body from bottom to top, lingering on my breasts. I hugged my jacked tightly around my body, covering them and I could hear him groaning under his breath. It terrified me that this was what he had taken an interest in, but my fears were soon irrationalized by his explanation. "Don't worry. I won't hurt you, if you do what I tell you to do, that is. I want you to declare Edward Cullen mentally insane and admit him to a mental institution indefinitely on grounds of being a danger to both himself and the public. I want you to continue to treat him, keep him locked up for as long as you can. The day he walks free, I promise you, will be the day you die. Understand?"

I nodded, though I wasn't sure that I could do what he was asking me to do. To betray a patient, betray myself, like that was one thing. But, for some reason, to do something like that to Edward seemed so much worse. I had never planned on not letting him free. I didn't think he was crazy, or dangerous—not because of his mental state, at least. He was sensible and I believed he was in his right mind. It was the combination of his young life and his own anger issues that had made him what he was. Morals even had a part in his making. He didn't want to be this, I didn't think. He had been molded that way.

Most importantly, if he said that someone tried to kill him, I believed him. Why? I had no fucking idea.

But I had to live in the moment for now, because this wasn't over—not even close. I could see that. The man moved closer to me, leering down at me with sinful eyes, roving my body, violating me visually, and I had the feeling that I wouldn't be getting off scot-free tonight. He wouldn't keep his promise; I would be hurt. That was all there was to it. It was only a matter of how he decided to hurt me. And, by the looks of it, his plans were more sexual that anything.

I closed my eyes as his hand roughly grabbed at the sleeve of my jacket, yanking it off my shoulder and tugging at the collar of my shirt so that my breast, thankfully still covered by my bra, sprung out into the open. Fingers grazed down my neck, over my nipple and continued slowly down my body, stopping at the top button of my jeans. Disgusted, I felt the waistband loosed, heard the horrible sound of an unzipping zipper that from that night on would make me shiver with dread. He was going to rape me and there was nothing I could do about it. Because I couldn't move, couldn't fight. I was scared, stunned and paralyzed—stuck in one place, one position, and entirely at this stranger's mercy. It didn't matter what I would have to do to Edward anymore. All that mattered was that I felt like dying.

Just as hands had begun to work their way under the fabric of my pants, I heard someone yelling from the other side of the garage. There were no words, no meaning: just shouting nonsense that I was incredibly grateful to hear. Just like that, the hands were gone and I could hear feet pounding against concrete. When I opened my eyes I screamed, jumping back so that I was touching the front bumper of my truck, watching in horror as Edward rushed towards the man who had been threatening me. In one quick motion, Edward's fist collided with his jaw, sending him flying backwards, falling hard against the ground. I thought he would stop, rush me away, but he didn't. He took the gun from the strange man's hand pressing it to his temple, locking eyes with the man who had become his victim. I watched him squeeze the trigger, heard the weapon fire, but I didn't believe it. This couldn't be real. In a way I was relieved—glad even—but I was also horrified.

When Edward turned to look at me, his eyes were wary. I could feel my body sliding towards the ground though I didn't want to sit down. I wanted to run away, run as far as I could; I simply couldn't. I watched with caution, breathing shaky, as he dropped the pistol and raised his hands so that I could see them. And his eyes were just as innocent and welcoming as ever, not at all like the eyes of a man who had just murdered someone in cold blood. A few days ago, I might have said he was a homicidal psychopath. But, tonight, as I thought through what had just happened, I felt as though he was the good guy. He had no remorse, clearly, but he had saved me and so I couldn't condemn him.

That didn't mean, however, that I wasn't afraid of what he was capable of. Out of the frying pan and into the fire, I thought.

"It's okay, Bella. I won't hurt you."

He eased himself closer and I shied away, pressing my back hard against my fender. There would most likely be a bruise there in the morning, but I didn't care. The pain didn't matter. What mattered was the man in front of me, moving closer by the second.

"That's what he said, too." I gestured to the dead body near my feet. It wasn't the first time I had seen a corpse. I'd seen more than enough in my life, going through and in my everyday life as a doctor. Death was nothing new and I was somewhat numb to the pain of it. But this was murder, murder that I had been a witness to, and that was something very, very different.

"Bella, I did that because he was going to hurt you. You didn't want him to hurt you, did you?" I shook my head, relaxing a little as I began to hear his words. "I need you to get up now and start your car for me. Can you do that?"

I wished I could, but I shook my head no. "The car won't start. That's what I was doing when he came up behind me and…oh, God…" I could feel the tears poring over onto my cheeks, running down my face and I knew that I wasn't going to be okay. I needed help, serious help, because I was about to lose it. I'd been on the verge of a breakdown for years, but this was going to be the final straw. "I'm gonna need a couple drinks." I mumbled and Edward laughed at me.

"You're such a boozer, Bella. How did you ever get through med school?"

I shook my head, wiping the tears away and crawling around to the side of my truck. I still wanted to get away but Edward followed me, taking hold of my shoulders and pulling me up into a standing position. It was had to stand, my legs having turned to rubber, so he hugged me close to his hard, muscled chest and let me cry. "We can get you a few drinks, but you're going to have to pull it together for just a few minutes. Get in the car and wait for me. Everything is going to be fine."

I don't know why I listened to him. Maybe it was the trauma of it all or the sheer terror that was still clouding my judgment. But I stumbled unsteadily around to the passenger's side and slumped down in the seat, letting the tears run silently down my face as Edward rummaged through bits and pieces of engine. After a minute, he got in the truck himself and pushed the key into the ignition, twisting it and causing the engine to roar immediately to life, just as it should have the first time I'd tried it.

"How did you do that?" I asked, looking up at him through watery eyes. I couldn't help but think he was beautiful, disheveled and sweaty as he was. He was Edward and there was just something about him that I liked, something that made me forget who I was, who I had worked so hard to become.

"Old trick…Carlisle's been using it for years…I mean he's been having his guys do it that way. He doesn't life a finger of course." And he rolled his eyes, as though this was the most naturally annoying thing in the world. Then, he grew serious, bringing his hand up to cup my cheek. The rough texture of his thumb brushed against my skin and I shivered, eyes boring deeply into his green irises. "I know you must be scared and I know you have to think I'm fucking crazy. But I promise you that Mike would have done far worse to you if I hadn't shown up when I did."

I nodded. Then it dawned on me. "Why were you down here?" I questioned, searching his face for answers that I knew should be irrelevant at this moment.

Wryly, Edward smirked at me, shrugging his shoulders and telling me, "I just thought I'd come down and let you know that you're a decent kisser. But I do appreciate it when someone makes sure I'm conscious before they sexually assault me. It kind of ruins the moment when you're half asleep."

And with a wink, he had me. I didn't know how, but Edward had won me over.


	9. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight.**

**Prescription for Danger by mng042197**

**Description: Dr. Bella Swan has been a psychiatrist in the mental ward at St. Mary's Hospital for the past year. She's seen all sorts of people coming and going. But Edward Cullen is a whole different story, himself painting a much more frightening picture of his supposed mental instability.**

We peeled out of the parking garage, hitting the pavement and running like bats out of hell. It was just beginning to sink in what had just happened to me, and I was definitely not going to be okay. I'd watched one of my patients kill my to-be rapist. Worst of all, I hadn't been near as afraid as I should have been. I had forgiven him so readily, in fact, that it shocked me. I didn't know who this person was, where this new side of me had come from. I could admit that I'd always been a bit cold, clinical, but to witness a killing and not feel anything? To feel no pity? I didn't know what to think of that. I tried to rationalize, telling myself that it was the fear of the man who had attacked me simply overriding my natural empathy for a lost human life. But, in truth, it was hatred—hatred for the people in my life who had wronged me, who had bullied me and abused me. That man was just an unfortunate reminder, and I took my anger out on him.

Edward watched me out of the corner of his eye as he heading towards the expressway, careful not to drive too fast, just fast enough to get where he was going a little bit faster. He was gauging my reaction, searching my features for some emotion that would tell him what to expect from me. He had done this before, I was sure. He'd killed and ran. But I hadn't and this would be the moment when I chose a path, chose what kind of person I was going to be. Would I decide it didn't matter, decide that Edward had been in the right? Or would I give in to what would be expected of me, and turn him in to the authorities?

"Who are you, exactly? What did you do for a living?"

He knew the answer I was expecting and he gave it to me without any hesitation. He trusted me now; he had no other choice. I held his freedom in my hands and there was nothing to be done about that. "I've been a hit for a while now…pretty good at it. I know you probably think I'm a monster, but that's none of your business. Got it?"

I nodded, confused by his suddenly angry demeanor. There were still tears brimming over the lids of my eyes, but I ignored them, silently allowing them to fall as I stared blankly out into the night. This would be the end of my career, I knew, but there was something about it that drew me in. There was something about _him_ that drew me in. "Where are we going?" I asked, not bothering to turn and watch him.

"We? Who said we were going anywhere. You're going home, and you're going to tell the cops that I kidnapped you."

My jaw fell open and I instantly thought through the entire scenario in my head. I couldn't go home now, not even if I really did want to. Because the man who Edward had killed had warned me that if Edward ever went free I would be killed, no questions asked. And I had a feeling that whoever his friends were would make good on their promise.

"I can't go home, Edward. It's not safe." This time, he looked at me, staring at me intensely through his piercing green eyes. "That man you killed…"

"Mike. He works—he _worked_ for my father. That was until he made one very big mistake. I had to kill him, Bella, or he would have killed the two of us. He would have raped you."

I nodded shakily in understand, not believing my situation. I knew what would have happened if Edward hadn't done what he had, and it was hard for me to wrap my brain around. "He said that they—whoever it is that sent him…

"My father. He—"

"Stop interrupting me!" The outburst surprised him and he quieted, smirking to himself as he merged onto the expressway. "He said that they were going to kill me if you made it out of the psych ward. They know all about my life; they knew where I worked and who I was. I can't go back now. It's not safe. I'm afraid and I'm not ready to die, Edward."

By the time I had finished my final sentence, I was hysterical. I couldn't function anymore and I knew what I really wanted was a drink. But I didn't have that so I settled for the next best thing. Reaching into my jacket pocket, I withdrew a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Placing one, with some difficulty, to my quivering lips, I held it over the small flame, watching it catch fire and smoke in the air around me. Inhaling deeply, I focused on the sensation, luxuriating in the nicotine buzz I could feel coming over me.

"Bastard…I knew something like this would happen. I should have seen it fucking coming, too! I'm just not thinking anymore. But you're right. You can't go home. How much money do you have in your bank account?"

"None." I told him and he looked at me with narrowed eyes. "I like to keep my money in cash. Old habits die hard I guess; my mother didn't like to leave a paper trail, because she never could pay her damn rent on time and heaven forbid anyone have any way of tracking her…all the money she owed to people. And don't even mention the IRS. Regardless, I don't keep my money in a bank for very long."

Edward nodded, conceding that he understood my reasoning. "Where's your apartment? That is where you keep the cash, right?"

I shook my head that, yes, it was and took another long drag. Smiling, I propped my feet up on the dash of my truck. "It's where I keep the vodka too."

He laughed at me, and it agitated me more than anything. Usually, it would have endeared me to him, but not tonight. "You're a mess, Doctor Swan. You're a hot fucking mess." I wasn't amused. This was no joke. It was entirely too serious, actually. I was, in fact, a doctor and it had taken me a long time to get this far in my life. But if I did what I knew I needed to do, if I went on the run with a fugitive and a mad man, if I fought for my safety, I would lose everything: my credibility, my job, my medical license. I would be a criminal and the police would come after me. A man had been killed and, in some ways, I felt like his blood was on my hands. I hadn't stopped Edward. I hadn't protested the death.

"You killed him." I said, looking at the man beside me with a mixture of gratitude and fear. I didn't know what to say to him, how to tell him how I was feeling. I needed someone to help me, to explain to me what the best thing to do was. And Edward was just as good a man as any to help me navigate this situation. After all, he has done this before.

Edward nodded. "I did. But I didn't really have a choice. Mike is a killer, and he would have killed me, or you, without a second thought. You don't need to know all the details. But I'm telling you, I promise, that what I did was something that needed to be done. Okay?"

I told him that I understood, whether I really did or not. I really had no idea. So I shut my mouth and navigated Edward towards my apartment. There were things that I needed if I was going to disappear. As we pulled into the parking lot out back, I tried to steady my breathing. It was dark, barely enough light for me to see where I was walking as I moved up the back steps to my apartment. I didn't want to use the front door, didn't want to be seen. Withdrawing my key, making sure Edward was still behind me, I opened the rear door off of the fire escape.

My apartment was empty and silent as usual. But there was something amiss. Drawers were opened and my things had been rummaged through. A picture of Emmett and me was missing from the front hall table and I noticed that one of the lamps was knocked over. I stopped dead in my tracks, breath hitching unexpectedly at the sight. This was very wrong, but wasn't everything wrong these days?

"They did their homework, obviously." Edward mumbled, striding quickly through the apartment, searching for signs of activity. "My guess is they came by to get some information, whatever they could. They wanted personal knowledge. Do you see anything missing that might have been important?"

"Just a photo of me and my brother is all."

"Your brother? Is there anything else about him that whoever was here might have been able to find out about?"

I thought, then rushed over to the kitchen drawer. It was already open and I knew, as soon as I saw it, that I was missing something important. Horrified, I turned to Edward, my face frozen in a mask of disgust. "My address book. It had everyone's names and numbers and addresses. All of my friends' and family's information is in that book."

The look on his face alone terrified me. I couldn't believe this was happening to me, couldn't believe that this was my life. Going over to the fridge, I flung it open and withdrew a barely used bottle of wine from the night before. I had been trying to stop drinking so heavily, but all of my efforts were quickly flying out the window. Anymore, I didn't think I was even capable of giving a shit. The cold alcohol burned my dry throat, but I chugged it down greedily, trying to drown the pain.

"Bella, don't freak out okay. And don't get drunk. You're no good drunk."

"And how would you know?" I snapped.

"Because no one is any good drunk and we only have a few hours before the cops are on our ass. So you need to make a decision. Either you come with me, or you go to the cops. You have a lot to lose here, Bella. There's still a chance for you to get out of this unscathed. But you have to consider one thing." I couldn't breathe then, couldn't think. My heart seemed to stop beating as I waited. "My father has power. There is no place where he couldn't find you and I'm not sure that you could be protected from him. Now, he has asked something of you and you won't be able to do what he asks, because I can't let you. You've caused the death of one of his best men, and he will come for you.

"So what will it be, Doctor Swan? Will you take the chance with the law, of against it? You could lose your credibility, on one hand, maybe even your freedom. But, on the other, you very well may lose your life. It all depends on what is more important to you. That's what you have to decide before you choose what to do."

I thought, and then panicked. "I can't die, Edward. I'm not ready to die! I—I don't have the things I wanted…I'm alone. I'm a lonely drunk with no family! I never loved anyone, Edward, not really. I mean, I love my brother and Jake, but that's not the kind of love I wanted. I wanted someone to take care of me…to be with me in…I don't know! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry."

I sunk down to the floor, leaning my back against the cabinets and taking another swig of my wine. Edward came to stand over me, looking down at my tear filled eyes with pity. He felt bad for me—the man I'd been treating because a suicide attempt, who'd been raised by a mobster, whose life was nearly irreconcilable. It was extremely depressing. He had been deemed the crazy one, but it was me.

His hands found their way to my cheeks, resting on either side of my face and forcing me to look at him. For a moment, I was lost in his big, bright green eyes, sincere and thoughtful as they bore into mine, then I remembered that he was dangerous and I reigned myself back in. "Bella, this isn't the end. I've seen much worse and I promise you, you will be fine. This is my battle—my problem—and I'm sorry that you got dragged into it. It's my fault and I would like to take care of this for you. I will personally make sure that nothing happens to you, if that's what you want. You may lose your job, but you will stay alive. I swear to you, no one will touch a single hair on your head."

I watched him warily, looking for a sign that he was lying. I'd been trained to know these things, to get into people's heads and to know just what they were thinking, whether they were a threat or not. I was supposed to be able to tell the difference between insane and broken, between overzealous, fatal fervor and misguided determination. But, with Edward, I never could tell. Because, when he looked at me this way, like he was right then, I couldn't think. I couldn't be clinical, couldn't dissect him the way I did other people. He captivated me, held my attention so securely that I couldn't look away long enough to gather my thoughts.

I tried to formulate the words I wanted to say, putting them into a sentence that made sense, but it was more difficult than I would have expected. "I know what the right thing to do is. I should go to the police and let them handle this." He sighed, clearly disappointed, and I paused. "But, I'm afraid of what happened to me tonight. I'm afraid of that happening again. And, for some reason, I feel like I trust you."

His face lit up then and he smiled, somehow satisfied by my conclusion. "You should. I mean it when I say you will be safe with me."

I nodded, grinning tightly, nervously. "Thanks. I appreciate it." And I took another large gulp of wine into my mouth, swallowing it and repeating the action twice. The bottle was three quarters empty already and I could feel my body warming, feel the relief creeping over me as the alcohol took effect. "And, by the way, I did not kiss you."

I don't know why I said it. I guess I wanted him to know that I wasn't attracted to him in that way—which was, of course, the bold faced lie. I had become good at lying over the years, but I found it hard to believe that he would buy the bullshit I was selling. I had kissed him, and I did want him. But I wanted him to think differently and I knew that wouldn't be easy to do.

Edward smirked, leaning in even closer to me. I could feel his breath on my lips and my body tensed, the sexual tension building to a point of insanity. I was entirely too aroused and I couldn't control it. "Even if you didn't kiss me, which you did, I kissed you and I liked it. And I don't give up things that I like. Not ever."

My heart stopped. I thought he would kiss me then, but he didn't. Instead he pulled me to my feet and towards by bedroom. "Get whatever you need, just the bare minimum. Then we'll formulate a plan. Sound good, doctor?"

I nodded, confused and dumbfounded at what had just occurred. My entire world had been turned upside down, but it excited me, made me crave more. In truth, it all turned me on and that frightened me. But maybe it wasn't the adrenaline. Maybe it was just Edward. Regardless, things were about to get interesting very, very fast.


	10. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight.**

**Prescription for Danger by mng042197**

**Description: Dr. Bella Swan has been a psychiatrist in the mental ward at St. Mary's Hospital for the past year. She's seen all sorts of people coming and going. But Edward Cullen is a whole different story, himself painting a much more frightening picture of his supposed mental instability.**

We were in my car again, speeding down the highway towards the edge of the city. In my hand was the pistol that I had used to keep hidden under the top corner of my mattress. I stared at it blankly, thinking and trying to imagine what it would be like to use it, to pull the trigger and kill someone. I had watched Edward do it, watched him take a life coldly in his hands and extinguish it like a tiny, bothersome flame. His eyes had been so empty, so flat. There was nothing behind them and that frightened me.

"You're not going to hurt me, are you?" I asked him skeptically, wondering what he was capable of doing to me. But when his hand wandered over the consul to be placed on my quivering knee, I began to think of different things that he could do to me—things that I would rather experience. I shifted uncomfortably, trying desperately to hold on to whatever slight control I still had over the situation when his eyes locked with mine.

"I would never hurt you, Bella. Understand that. What I did tonight was something that had to be done. Mike tried to rape you, Bella, and he would have if I hadn't shown up. He would have killed me if I didn't kill him." Glancing back to the road, he continued. "That's just the kind of world that I live in—kill or be killed, simple as that. You do what you have to do to survive."

"And just what exactly do you do, Edward? Honestly?"

I could see his face fall, his shoulders shifting uncomfortably. He looked ashamed, almost, like a naughty child telling his mother he'd done something bad. "I'm a hit man, Bella. I've been doing it since I was sixteen."

Overwhelmed, I put the bottle of scotch I'd taken from my apartment to my mouth and swallowed hard. I didn't believe that this was my life, that I was here in this place, feeling the exact same feelings that I had spent my entire life trying to run away from. I didn't want to be fearful or nervous. I didn't want to worry about where I would be sleeping the next night or whether or not someone was going to be arrested. I just wanted to go back to the careful existence that I had created, back to my regular seat in the bar up the street from me, right next to Jake with a drink in my left hand and cigarette in my right. I wanted to go to work in the morning and focus on other people's problems instead of my own. Most importantly, I wanted to talk to Alice and Jasper and pretend like nothing had ever happened.

"Where are we going then?" I questioned, ignoring what Edward had just told me and moving on.

"Well, I think the best thing would be to get out of town and find you a safe place to hide out. Then I've got my own places to go."

My eyes grew wide, confused and more than a little bit angry. "What? You're leaving me? Alone? But the guy said that they were going to KILL me!" He was silent, seemingly trying to decide how to answer me. But I understood and my realization was horrifying. "What the fuck, Edward? I'm going to die!"

"No, you're not. That's why I have to leave. I don't want them killing either one of us. And, like I said, it's a kill or be-killed world and I've gotta play by the rules."

"You're going after them, whoever it is that sent that guy? Edward, who sent him? You never even told me. How am I supposed to know what to do when I don't know who's trying to end my life?"

"You don't want to know." He responded, shaking his head furiously and staring straight ahead. I saw right through him; I was trained to.

"I don't want to know? Or you just don't want to tell me?"

He didn't say anything so I reached for my bag which sat wedged between my feet and pulled out a cigarette and a lighter. Putting it between my lips, I watched the embers slowly rise up the white column towards my mouth. Out of the corner of my eyes, I caught Edward watching me. The smoke curled up in the air and I turned to the open window to exhale, flicking my finger against the tip and letting the ashes disappear into the night.

"You're kind of amazing, you know that?" came a voice from beside me and I turned back to see him looking straight at me. "You aren't like other people. You call me on my shit. You always seem to know what I'm thinking or feeling. You know when I'm lying. It's like you're the first person who ever understood me like that. I like it. I need that." His eyes were soft and misty, filling me with emotions that I had not been prepared to feel. He was sincere, and I wanted to tell him that I felt the same way.

But I didn't. I couldn't. "Yeah, well, that's kind of my job, you know."

Disappointed, Edward turned his gaze back to the road, his face hardening into an impenetrable mask though I could see the pain breaking through around the edges and it broke my heart. "I know that. Of course, I know that. I guess therapy really does help."

We got to the other side of the state border hours later and decided that we wouldn't check into a motel just yet, not until we had arrived where we wanted to be, where he would leave me for the very last time. Would I ever see him again once he had taken care of whatever business he had with whoever it was that was after us? I didn't know. I had no idea. I wished that I did, wished that I knew what would happen when I woke up in the morning. And as I crawled into the bed of my truck next to Edward, wrapping one of the blankets from the backseat around my shivering body, I wondered just how far this would go.

"Goodnight, Edward." I mumbled into the darkness.

"'Night, doc."

And I drifted off to sleep.


End file.
